Haunted
by MusoukaS
Summary: The clouds above him were weeping, imitating his own expression. His body was heavy, tired and covered in blood, but he couldn’t stop nor slow down his pace. He was haunted, haunted by the enemy'. Rated T for possible gore/violence


His breathing was rapid and unsteady as he ran through the thick forest. Branches continuously blocked his way and his already-blurred sight, hitting him ever so harshly as he tried to force his way through the enormous forest. His footsteps dug into the soft wet soil as he quickly made his way through the forest, passing tree after tree, after tree.

It had started to rain, heavily. The drops bounced onto the leaves, dancing and following a downwards trail, until they finally reached the ending and fell downwards, falling downwards onto his already-soaked body. The clouds above him were weeping, imitating his own expression. His body was heavy, tired and covered in blood, but he couldn't stop nor slow down his pace.

He was haunted, haunted by the enemy.

He had tried to hide, but it had been in vain – as soon as he tried, no matter when, he knew they would find him and almost had. And once they would find him and capture him, he was a lost case. No one would ever see him again and he would never return to his village ever again.

They were onto him. In fact, they were only a few meters behind him, their footsteps slamming harshly onto the soaked soil beneath them. He didn't have to look over his shoulder to notice this. He could sense it. He could feel them approaching him.

He hád already been a lost case from the start. Somewhere deep inside his mind, he knew this, but he wasn't willing to give up just yet.

Anger and sadness drove his mind and body. He needed to continue his way back home. He needed to get home. He needed to get the revenge he oh-so longed for. He had to. He had promised his comrades he would and he was going to live up to that promise, no matter what it took.

With each passing minute, his breathing became more shallow than before. Puddles of mud and water had started to form underneath him. The fallen rain splashed up high in the air when his feet stepped into one of the said puddles. He didn't care, though. He didn't care that his body started to feel cold, that it started to feel the effects of hypothermia, he was a fighter. He fought against it as hard as he could. He needed to succeed. He had to!

He whipped some of the blood spatters and trails off of his face with the back of his hand. His teammates had been killed by them, by the enemy. He was the only survivor, he was the only one to tell the horrible tale. Or… would he?

The deep forest didn't seem to have an ending and he desperately wanted it to end. His feet were almost dragging themselves, courage started to fade away..he was sure he was somewhere in the middle of the forest, he knew it would take too long before he could leave this horrible place behind him. And to make matters worse; they were catching up on him.

His knees started to become weak, his muscles trembling in fear. He felt ashamed, disappointed in himself as if he had let his village and comrades down. He sank to his knees and felt how the hypothermia crept over him and started to take control over his body. The tears started to well up in his eyes and eventually, they started to flow down.

Ironically, his face started to feel slightly warmer. He bitterly tried to swallow his tears back, but it was in vain. He fell forwards, his fingers digging deep into the soaked and wet soil as he cried, realizing that his two beloved friends and comrades had offered their own lives to protect hím, and what did he do? He was the one failing them, letting them down.

He remembered that he had been taught to use extreme measures if needed.

He reached behind him, reaching out for the sheath that was placed on his back, and grabbed the sword by it's grip. He slowly slid the sword out of it's sheath and held it in both of his hands as he straightened himself. Then, he completely held it out before him, reaching in front of him as far as he could with both of his hands wrapped around the grip.

As he was about to stab himself in his abdomen with his sword, someone suddenly stood before him and offered him his hand. He looked up to meet the stranger's gaze and noticed that he was smiling, even though he wore a mask, his narrow eyes gave it away.

''There's not much time'', the man before him said. His voice low, dominant and strict.

He nodded in response and took the offered hand, placing the sword back in his sheath with his other and free hand. Together, they left the forest for what is was and they would come back later, just once. To get revenge.

Tenzou smiled to himself as both of his thumbs caressed the picture in front of him through it's glass plate. It had been a picture from when he had been in the ANBU. In fact, it was a group picture from his previous team with Hatake Kakashi leading the group, Uzuki Yugao as a fellow team member and himself.

That was how he had met the notorious Copy Ninja and how the Copy Ninja had saved his life.

* * *

A simple one-shot that popped into my head. I had to write some angst - mostly to have some distraction. I'll upload chapter 6 off '' For a tree to become tall..'' this saturday evening [Eurpean time, bébéjj]. Oh yea, you might wonder '' why the hell stab him in the abdomen?'', that's simply because - back in the olden days - samurai's died a somewhat honorable death by stabbing themselves in the abdomen. Not that Tenzou's honorable or anything, but yea.. I don't know. Also.. this is very unlikely that they met each other thís way.

Let me know your thoughts about it!

Naruto is copyrighted by Masashi Kishimoto.


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